Set Your Heart
by Annamonk
Summary: A moment of magical transcendence changes the destinies of many. I wanted to write one that was quite different. This has been floating around waiting for me to put it out there. Not my sandbox, I just like playing in it.
1. Chapter 1

Viktor Krum knew his place in the universe. Generations of Krum men had Reid the path before him. Devotion to the old ways was bred into him. From his first memories, his father's stern visage and his mother's gentle hands had set him on the right path. A man of honor served his family, his land, and his people. Above all these, a man served at the will of the Goddess.

Victor stared at the altar before him. The roughly hewn stone of the original shrine had been refined by artisans and the passage of time. There were no spring flowers to adorn it yet, so it was stark against the bright glow of the snow on the ground. The stone was worn into shallow grooves where his knees fit. He knelt between the two statues of winged horses. The stone was cold beneath his knees. He kept himself still. The carvings around him seemed to breathe and move the longer he held the position. The runes his mother had marked in his own blood down his spine were aligned perfectly. They warmed as the sun lit across his shoulders and cast a long shadow across the stone floor. It appeared as if his shadow was lying prostrate before the goddess.

He wasn't ready for this. He hadn't planned for it or prepared for it. The first rites of manhood were meant for older boys. He wanted to play with the foals in the field and the other boys. He didn't want to start this journey. None of that mattered. His wants didn't matter. His place in the universe was here. He took deep steady breaths.

He had used his magic to save a neighbor this morning. The man had trusted the frozen ice too soon. The panic that has gripped him as he watched the man slip through the ice into the water had infused him with power. Pulling him from under the ice had left him winded and shaking, but it hadn't felled him. It was his first purposeful use of the gift. His father's pride had been all too evident.

Viktor took a deep breath. The older boys would not take this well. A seven year old should have been a mere spectator, but he was the one about to offer his magic to her service.

He raised his eyes to gaze on her. The Goddess stared back at him with her stone eyes. The acrid scent of burning incense teased his nose. The wild nimbus of her curling hair seemed to move for a moment. He held fast as the world changed around him.

A young girl was curled in a ball crying as other children taunted her. Some of them were throwing bits of dirt and grass at her. There was no way for him to stop them. He felt a burning urge to reach out to her, but the vision would not allow it. She was cradling a badly damaged hand against her pink shirt. He watched as she tossed back her hair and her eyes glowed like liquid amber. The others fled.

He examined her carefully. There was no doubt his future was tied to hers. He felt a burn along his spine, but he held strong. It was another test. He pushed through the pain. The girl in the vision mattered more than it did.

The burn intensified. He clenched his fists and drove his nails into his skin. The agony was trying to take him from her, but he would not allow it. He raised his bloody hands and grabbed the equine statues resting at his sides.

The sudden surge of his magic allowed him to move within the vision. He followed as she fled from the cruelty of the other children to a small she'd full of strange metal things. He saw rakes and gardening equipment carefully hung on one wall. At least, there was something he recognized. She turned toward him and through up a weak shield with her magic. Holding his hands out flat and empty was all he could do. The shield fell.. He cupped the young girl's cheek and tried to soothe her. She reached up with a trembling hand and clasped his other hand. Their blood mingled and a golden glow formed around their hands. She was powerful. He locked eyes with her. He wanted to remember this, to remember her.

Victor was yanked back from the vision and blinked as the goddess carved into stone took the place of the girl that had held his hand. He felt something pressed between his hand and the horse on his left.

He wanted to yank his hand down and see what it was, but he waited for the chanting to stop.

He slumped as the chanting ended, but kept his hands pressed to the statues. His father approached and whispered his name. The ritual was not complete. He had to rise on his own. He had to bow to the goddess. His legs trembled as he stood. He steadied himself and released the winged horses his hands rested on. The item stuck to his skin, held steady by his thickening blood. He cupped his hand and kept the item hidden in his palm. He didn't want to share it with the elders. He didn't want them to speculate and gossip. He bowed. Relief flared in him. He had managed it smoothly.

He stepped back and felt his father's hands through the fur lined cloak that was draped over his shoulders. He ignored the babble of excited voices and stared down at the odd pink bead in his hand. He looked up at the altar.

His fist closed around a bead made from a substance he didn't recognize. His future was with the girl from his vision. He had her pink flying horse bead to remind him through the years ahead. He bowed again.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione cast the simple spell wandlessly and silently though she mouthed the Macedonian word. It had taken months of practice, but it was worth it. She felt the spell settle over her and knew the bullies would run passed her. She just needed to stay still.

She had to be careful with magic. Her parents thought there was an explanation for everything that happened, especially now that she'd gained control of most of the wildness of it. They saw what they wanted to see. Strangers might not be so quick to excuse the odd things they witnessed. Viktor had explained it to her in her dreams. There were rules. He'd explained to her that adult wizards would enforce the rules.

She liked rules. They made things easier, bit she didn't like adults enforcing them much. She always seemed to get punished for others misbehavior. If Nigel cornered her and took her pencil, he whined to the teacher, and she was punished for not sharing. It seemed to be the way things went, and wizards might try to take her magic or stop her sharing her dreams with Viktor. She clenched her fists. No one could take her Viktor away.

Viktor spent hours teaching her how to protect herself. Her parents thought he was her imaginary friend. They also thought she was too old for an imaginary friend and her belief in magic would fade if they gave her enough books about science. She had a huge library of science books for a seven year old.

"Where'd she go?" One of the older boys snarled as he stalked passed her again. The others trailed behind him. "Too smart for her on good and in need of a lesson."

"She's gotten good at giving us the slip." The smallest of them looked around. "It's like she disappears."

"Found a good hidey hole most likely." The third boy shrugged. "She ain't good for much. All she's ever got are carrot sticks and books."

They wandered off looking for new victims. Hermione counted to one hundred in Greek. She relaxed and moved quickly toward her home. The ward stones she'd set would keep her safe there. She jogged passed manicured lawns and perfectly shaped trees to her own house. It was much like all the others, but as she stepped onto path to her door, the welcome tingle of the wards washed over her.

She sprawled in the perfect grass and stared up at the specks of blue breaking through the common grey of the clouds. She drew in deep breaths and let her senses range out. She felt the pulse of magic from all around her. She closed her eyes and used it to orient herself. Keeping her promise to hone her skills and practice her control everyday was easy. Viktor was in his first year at boarding school. He had a wand now, but he still made time to keep strong. She sighed.

Durmstrang. One of the three major European schools of magic. Viktor's current residence. He'd been showing her some of it in their dreams, but they both preferred to tour his home as they shared what little they could.

"Hermione Jean, time to stop dreaming the day away and study." Her mother's voice rang out and pushed away thoughts of Viktor.

"Yes, Mum." Hermione pushed up from the ground and ran toward house. She needed to do her homework. She darted in through the front door.

* * *

Viktor sat quietly and listened as his astronomy teacher droned on about things he'd learned at his mother's knee. Even Hermione knew this. He'd taught her.

He shifted in his seat. These late night lessons kept him from her. He sighed. The link between them was strong but limited. They shared only those few minutes when their dreams linked.

He couldn't reveal their bond. It was a precious thing. His father had told him to guard it well. Durmstrang was a place of great knowledge, but flexibility was not one of the school's defining characteristics. His Hermione would never be welcomed.

Only those of pure blood were accepted or truly tolerated. There were set disciplines and only one method was taught. Most of his fellow students were wholly dependent on their wands. Rune work and wandless magic were considered difficult skills to master. It made no sense to him. He'd been taught runes from his earliest days. Hermione was doing both with little to no guidance. She'd tamed her mind and honed her focus, as he had. Perhaps these pampered wizards weren't capable. He sighed. It didn't serve him to dwell on it.

Her eighth birthday was just days away and he'd managed to save enough coin for an international post owl. He patted his pocket where her present lay and cut across the crisp grass. The Owlery was deserted at this time of night.

* * *

Nigella Granger watched her daughter sit alone in the back garden with a book. She hadn't wanted a party. Not that she had many friends. It was hard to be four years younger than your classmates.

She glanced at the cake she'd had the bakery make and felt the responsibility of this lonely girl's life rest on her shoulders. She'd agreed to push her forward in school. She'd agreed to try to stop her daughter's day dreaming. When had a birthday cake become an unusual luxury? When had an imagination become a burden?

She looked at the cake. Her husband was sure to complain. She clenched her fists at her sides and stomped over to the cupboard. She yanked out the gift she'd been planning to return. She looked into the gift bag and smiled down at the bay winged horse stuffed toy. It wasn't pink or something else ridiculous.

She froze as she heard the side door open. Her husband came in and stopped and stared at the cake with a sheepish expression. He lifted a box in the air.

"Cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles." He sighed. "I picked up those Narnia books, too. She was crying the other night when she thought we were asleep. I want her to be happy. I want her to smart and well adjusted, but I think she needs to be happy first."

"I think so, too." Nigella cupped her husband's cheek in her hand, running her thumb along his cheek bone gently. "Let's call her in and see what she wants for dinner."

They turned toward the large picture window to see a giant Ural owl land next to her and offer up a small parcel that was attached to its foot.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione's mother examined one of the gifts her daughter had received by carrier owl. The very notion was absurd, and she wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes. The book looked to be quite old. It was covered in a leather she couldn't identify and blank on the inside. If it were a fancy journal, Hermione could happily fill it up, but it wasn't. When Hermione touched the book, the pages filled with words and illustrations.

"It has a translation spell worked into the cover." Hermione stroked her finger along the dark green hide and smiled. "Such a clever gift. My Thuringian is rubbish."

"Thuringian?" Nigella blinked down at the books blank pages.

"The older magics haven't been updated into more modern languages. Most wizards and witches don't bother to study them." Hermione shrugged. "The benefit is they aren't traceable either."

"Traceable?" Her father frowned.

"Wild magic and the more modern spells are monitored by the Government." Hermione frowned and looked down at her hands. "They can take your memories, and Viktor says there was a group out to kill my kind not that long ago."

"I'm sure he's exaggerating." Thad plucked a large purple stone from the box in his hand. "Boys tend to play things up to impress their friends.

Nigella looked across the table at her husband. He continued examining the collection of stones and crystals. The loose stones were impressive, but they weren't some fancy rock collection.

"He's eleven?" Her father looked up at her. "Some of these stones look quite valuable."

"They're the left overs from a project. Viktor apologized that he couldn't get me anything better." Hermione chewed on her lower lip. "I don't think he's making it up."

"You think there are people that would wipe our minds clean and hurt us?" Nigella blinked and watched her daughter's tentative nod.

"When I was young I was sure the tree in my backyard was talking to me." Thad rolled his eyes. "I imagined little leafy creatures living in it."

"Bowtruckles." Hermione nodded. "Viktor showed me one a couple of years ago."

"In your dreams?" Nigella swallowed. Somehow none of this seemed out of the realm of possibility anymore. "Why did you keep all of this from us?"

"I'm not old enough to know." Hermione scrunched up her nose. "I was afraid they'd take your memories. If we had other magically gifted family members, we'd be safe."

"I'm sure they're out there." Thad smiled at his daughter. "Logic and genetics make it likely. Maybe we should shake the family tree and see what falls out."

"Great Aunt Lacey lived in the Cotswolds." Nigella set the book down. "She was my side of the family's oddest duck."

"Fond of doilies, was she?" Thad grinned and set down the box.

"No, she lived in a little cottage and would hand draw maps of the stars." Nigella frowned. "She was always drying herbs and had bottles of liquids up on really high shelves. Mum claimed she made the best cough syrup, but she passed on when I was fairly young. Mum might have some of her things. I don't think anybody else wanted them."

"So, this is all a ploy to get me to visit my mother in law?" Thad grinned at them both. "I should have known."

* * *

Thaddeus Granger hated his mother in law. He knew it didn't make him a bad person, but he hated the fact that he hated the woman. He was supposed to be the better person, but, when it came to his mother in law, he was as base as he could be. Elladora Villar was insane, not in a doddering, quaint sort of way with too many cats.

The woman collected fossils and skeletons. She articulated them herself. Each bloody one had a name and a personality to go with it. There was nothing sweet of kind about her.

"I must remember to thank Grandmother for the book." Hermione smiled from the backseat of the car. "It's fascinating to think about the influences of the Black Death on modern society."

"Yes." He managed the word with a smile. He rather wished his daughter played Ring Around the Rosie instead of thinking about the cultural significance of the bubonic plague.

"Mum is devoted to science." Nigella slid her hand into his and smiled. "She encouraged me to follow my passion for it."

"I'm thankful you settled on dentistry, Dear." Thad smiled. "I don't know if we'd have met if you'd pursued research."

"My mother is sure my odd urge to help people is a genetic trait I inherited from my father." Nigella rolled her eyes. "She married a vicar. Did she really expect him to take science as his center?"

"He loved to study the stars." Thad grinned. "He had that telescope and all those physics books tucked up in that little corner of the attic."

"The one with the window that opened." Nigella nodded. "I think he went up there to avoid Mum sometimes."

Thad didn't bother to agree. The better part of valor and all that. He heard Hermione humming and turned up the music.

The drive was just long enough to see his girls nodding off. He enjoyed the peace of driving as they slept. It provided him with time to think about the changes in his world.

* * *

"A study of genealogy on a personal level?" Grandmother raised her eyebrow and stared down at Hermione. "They're calling this science?"

"It's supposed to get us interested and make it personal." Hermione swallowed the horribly dry biscuit and forced a smile to her face. "Most of my classmates don't enjoy science."

"Most of your classmates are proof that devolution is possible. Your parents should find a more challenging environment for you."

"I'm sure they will." Hermione smiled at her Grandmother. The woman was intimidating and more than a bit off, but she meant well.

"A mind like yours should be trained and expanded." Her grandmother gestured expansively. "You're not slacking in your studies?"

"Never." Hermione took a deep breath. "I want to be the best."

"Of course you do." Grandmother Ella patted her hand. "You're a star. I just can not fathom why your parents are encouraging this nonsense by cleaning out my attic."

Hermione nodded and sighed. The shuffle of her parents feet in the attic seemed unnaturally loud. She watched her grandmother fret for a moment when inspiration struck.

"I think they're doing it for you." She looked up at the ceiling. "It's good space. You could display more of your collection or build a better workroom. Mum always says you need space to seek the truth."

Hermione strongly suspected her mother meant something less tangible with her words, but it soothed her grandmother. The woman was wound a bit tight and made the worst biscuits ever in the universe. There simply wasn't enough milk.

* * *

Phineas Black watched his great, great granddaughter work through the remnants of his things. She was a studious baggage, but that would serve her well. In time, he would be able to help her. The magic flowing through her was giving him strength. He could feel it in his pigments.

* * *

Viktor woke up and stared at the ceiling above him. The dark wood beams traced across the space. There was beauty in them. They supported the building, held it strong against the weight of snow and powerful winds.

Hermione had visited his dreams with tales of her family tree and a portrait of Phineas Black. He looked to his books and traced a finger along the spine. The tooled letters formed the title and author's name, Phineas Nigellus Black, _Curses of Blood and Family_.

His Hermione descended from a cursed wizard. He swallowed and looked back up at the ceiling. It was no longer enough to learn. If he was to protect her, he must be the best. There was no other choice.


End file.
